Pure Imagination
by The Feisty Rogue
Summary: Harry imagines himself a whole new life, where he's a wizard, not just an ordinary child.


**Warnings for references to child abuse**

Assignment #6 Magic and Mundane Literature Task Three: Write about someone with an overactive imagination

Buttons: (song) Family Portrait by Pink, (character) Petunia Dursley

Around the World in 31 Days: 102. Muggle!AU

 **Pure Imagination**

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Harry opened his eyes, and wasn't surprised to see the inside of his cupboard, dark, dreary, and filled with cobwebs. Aunt Petunia had just pounded on his door, waking him up in time to make breakfast. He closed his eyes for one last moment, and imagined Other Harry – Harry the Wizard – opening his eyes to be greeted by the sight of Hagrid the Giant on his birthday, bigger even than Uncle Vernon, with a birthday cake made just for Harry. It was only a daydream, but it was Harry's daydream, and he loved it.

As Harry went about his day, he pruned the garden, scrubbed the floors, washed the dishes, and dreamed of Harry the Wizard's life. Harry the Wizard had a wand, because all wizards needed one, and a cauldron and a ticket to wizarding school as well. He made a friend on his very first day, something that Harry desperately wanted to make, for Harry had never had one.

"Boy! You missed a patch!" Aunt Petunia snapped. Harry smiled meekly, and mopped the corner of dirt she was pointing at. He imagined polishing trophies at wizarding school – Hogwarts, a suitably wizarding name. Perhaps he'd find his parents' name on one – a sports award, maybe. But Harry was pants as almost all kinds of sports… so maybe it was an invented one! Wizards and witches flew on broomsticks, so maybe his parents played a wizard sport that flew up in the air, away from all the troubles down below.

"Here." Aunt Petunia handed him a slice of bread. "Off you go outside now, and I don't want to see you back here until it's time to make dinner."

At Hogwarts, every meal was a feast; a different roast each night, all sorts of vegetables, potatoes, gravy, and pies piled high. Harry and Ron – his friend – would scoff as much as they could, and Harry would always save a little piece for later, just in case.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry dutifully replied, and took the proffered slice of bread. As he walked to the park he nibbled at it, determined to make it last as long as he could. In his imaginary dream world, there would be a spell to multiply food until it never ran out, but in real life, this was all Harry would have for the next few hours.

He perched on a swing, swaying gently, and closed his eyes once more. Harry imagined going to visit Hagrid, and watching a dragon hatch, and making friends with a girl – Hermione. He imagined saving her from a troll, one that reminded him of Uncle Vernon, big and tall and smelling gross. To the Wizarding World, Harry was a saviour, not a useless, no good freak. People liked Harry, and told him about his parents, who had loved Harry very much, and died to save him, and in the very end, Harry the Wizard managed to defeat the baddie, like all good heroes should do.

A shove took Harry by surprise, bringing him back to reality, and he fell to the ground, scraping his knee. Dudley stood over him, smirking.

"Heya… freak," Dudley sneered. Harry mentally added a bully to Other Harry's world, someone that looked the exact opposite of Dudley, pointed and sharp, but was just as horrible inside – Draco Malfoy, a perfectly evil name. In the imaginary world, nobody liked Malfoy, apart from the two thugs that stood by his side.

Dudley tried to kick him, and Harry scrambled to his feet.

"Ready for some Harry Hunting?" Dudley asked, and grinned with vicious delight. Behind Dudley were Piers and Marcus, who cracked their knuckles and laughed ominously.

"I'd rather not-" Harry began, but it was no use. Dudley swung at him, and Harry sprinted away, heart racing. He ran and ran, imagining himself on a broomstick, swooping up into the sky, away from the Dursleys, and everyone else on Privet Drive.

One day, Harry swore to himself, one day he would leave this place, and never look back.

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Word count: 671


End file.
